Circus

I saw an image of her, I couldn't help myself, I scrolled through a hundred, I'm sorry. Part of me hates her, you know, it isn't her fault at all, and just as big a part of me wishes I was more like she is. That dark hair that drapes her, the thin voice that'll break if you love her too hard. If my crooked smile was wistful like hers, perhaps you would think of me still.

There's salt water in my hair still, wisps of sand in the curves of my skin. They help etch new lines across my memory where your face used to lie. The days, they help, the summer songs and bottomless cups. Your voice still rings in my ears, I think I'd do anything to make you laugh, but maybe I can put one foot in front of the other for another few days, maybe they will add into years, maybe one day I will look at your smile and be happy just that it is. Maybe one day she will walk past me and it will not knock the air out of me.

But not today.